Hermione hugged herself as the wind continued to lash out at her. Letting her tears graze her cheeks, she let herself be reminded of her loneliness. Waves drenched her fully but she just stood there. Her friends had all abandoned her, abandoned her to the cold world.
The 3-year war had stolen everybody from her. Harry Potter had only lived for an hour after defeating Voldemort. Ginvera Weasley, had died defending Harry. Ron crumbled to his death on Hermione's lap, after being poisoned by the last horcrux. Neville Longbottom had died saving Hermione from the deadly curse. Lavender had died after pushing Harry away from the Veil, but falling into it eventually. Luna had died when she pushed herself in front of Voldemort, just as they were about to duel, saying that he had to duel with her first before she allowed him to touch Harry. Voldemort had laughed, but with Harry's help in the DA, she dueled very well, both of them tiring themselves out. Even with tears and blood running down her face, as she finally held Voldemort by the thin strand of magic, she ordered Harry, "Now!" she had shouted, and Harry had killed him while he was distracted. But it wasn't enough, both Hermione and Fred had to fire another 2 more Avada Kedavras before Voldemort finally crumbled to death. But because of the severe loss of magic, both Fred and Harry had died. Harry had pressed a kiss on her forehead while she was crying on her chest and whispered, "Hermione, sister, I have finally fulfilled the prophesy. I and the others will watch over you, I love you, Hermione." Before he took his last gasping breath.
The whole Weasley family had been wiped out day by day as the war came to an end. Heartbreakingly, She watched each of her family die. The Grangers had died protecting their daughter from the Death Eaters during an attack, in which Hermione escaped with a broken wrist.
There was nothing Hermione had to live for. Hermione, the bookworm, the fighter, had lost hope in life. She was only 20, but had been tired of life.
Each day, she would wake up in nightmares. Each day, she had longed for her friends, each day, she had immersed herself in her grief. Each day, she recounted how her family and friends died on her lap. Why was she the sole survivor of the war? There were others, but everybody were those who steered clear out of the war, those who were too coward to face reality, and retreated to the safe sanctuary of another country.
There were those who were ultimate cowards by committing suicide during the war. Yet, Hermione knew she would never stoop that low.
Sometimes, Hermione dreamt that something would happen, reversing her sorrow life, but it never did. She hoped Harry left a child or someone did not die, or she would find someone, but it never happened. Everybody was gone. Gone off the face of the world.
The magical world, so taunting, yet so tempting, was finally dead. She recounted every painful detail, in which she went to Hogwarts, and she grew up with her friends. They were painful, yet so delicious.
The magical world was wiped out. However, in the muggle museum, at a huge display was the story. A huge painting of a beautiful woman, standing on the rocks of a beach, while the wind and water lashed out at her, was exhibited. Her long hair seemed to dance, and her wistful glance was partly focused on the audience, her brown eyes were deep and full of sorrow, seemed to follow everyone who were in the painting's shadow.
Every person who looked at it, never failed to realize that a huge amount of sorrow reflected from it. It was the last person who ever lived in the magical world. Hermione Granger, part muggle and part witch was the last witch to inhabit that magical world. The magical world had fallen apart due to a struggle of war, ending in utmost sorrow of everyone. This is the only evidence we have of the extinct wizardry world.